


Get together in the pool

by hoshi_ni_natte



Category: Free!
Genre: Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshi_ni_natte/pseuds/hoshi_ni_natte
Summary: 仲間がいる場所へ　We can meet いつだってcollection of silly gen natsuya ficlets that have nothing to do with getting together or being in the pool because i'm me and free! did extremely right by me by giving me Friendship and NATSUYA. i love friendship and nATSUYAOh That’s right! Let’s Get together(1) in a family restaurant with ikuya🍛🥞 (natsuya&ikuya)(2) in nao’s new tokyo apartment🍺🍋(natsuya&nao)(3) in a cafe hiyori recommended☕️🖼️(natsuya&ikuya&hiyori)(4) in rin’s texts to haru from australia📱🌧️(natsuya&rin(&haru))(5) in haruka’s university⏱️💦(natsuya&haruka)(bonus) in kisumi’s face💋🏀(natsuya&kisumi)素顔になる場所で　We can meet いつだって
Relationships: Kirishima Natsuya & Kirishima Ikuya, Kirishima Natsuya & Kirishima Ikuya & Tono Hiyori, Kirishima Natsuya & Matsuoka Rin, Kirishima Natsuya & Nanase Haruka, Kirishima Natsuya & Serizawa Nao, Kirishima Natsuya & Shigino Kisumi
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

He’s gotten this far not wasting time worrying about others, Ikuya reminds himself under his breath, despite his recent efforts to unlearn the fact. Though he can’t keep his fingers from fiddling on his lap under the table, he’s able to hold in the urge to offer to order for his big brother.

Natsuya’s been flipping through the menu with furrowed brows and a pout for what must be like fifteen minutes now, and a waitress has come back to refill his glass of water at least thrice. Their oshiboris have gone unpleasantly cold, too.

Ikuya has half a mind to think Nao-senpai or Hiyori would take his side on this and understand why he’s anxious being forced to go to dinner with Natsuya out of nowhere, because aren’t they all aware of Natsuya’s track record of troubling people he’s close to? Maybe all the traveling (read: _fooling)_ around overseas has dumbed down the guy’s basic Japanese communication skills, and maybe his beer-brain prioritized preserving knowledge for izakayas over that for family restaurants.

The other half, against Ikuya’s will and better judgment, remains intent on Natsuya and notices when he finally puts the menu down. Pays attention properly when Natsuya leans across the table and yell-whispers at him through loosely cupped hands: “Do you think they’d let me order off the kids’ menu?”

“The hell are you asking me such a stupid thing for…?” Ikuya returns almost automatically, tone more confused than his intended deadpan. He reaches over and smacks his brother’s hands down. “You’re _twenty-one,_ Aniki—”

“—You’re right, Ikuya, I’m _twenty-one,”_ Natsuya repeats, satisfied, as if he’s somehow accepted how ridiculous it was that he was asking in the first place. His straight face breaks into a grin and he raises one of his hands to summon back their poor waitress. “I can do whatever the hell I want!”

Ikuya has a bad feeling about this—he feels like he’s just made some big mistake.

 _Natsuya_ makes none; perfect and polite and precise, he flattens the menu on the spread of kids’ set meals and points right as the waitress settles at their table and asks for his order: “I’ll have one omurice set, one hamburg steak set, and one curry set please!”

“Three sets?” the waitress echoes, simply to confirm, perfect and polite and precise in kind to Natsuya.

 _Ikuya’_ s the one who can’t believe Natsuya’s seriously just ordered three kids’ set meals for himself—this is clearly not what he meant to encourage by reminding him of his age. Ikuya is speechless, livid and incredulous in equal parts.

Natsuya’s in the middle of inquiring about the possibility of having beer instead of orange juice with everything when he catches Ikuya eyeing him, _glaring_ at him...? expression intent though unreadable. He excuses himself from the waitress for a second and addresses him pointedly: “What is it, Ikuya? You want the same thing? Something else on here?”

Ikuya doesn’t notice he’s stopped fiddling until he starts again, because now both Natsuya and the waitress are waiting for his response _expectantly,_ and he regrets not having fought the little-brotherly instinct to answer Natsuya’s call earlier this evening like he’s trained himself to do when he’s out of the country. This is all because Natsuya had to _suddenly_ decide on a brand-new dream, had to suddenly decide to be _here_ , in Tokyo, _with him—_

“—Napolitan set, fried rice set, and hotcake set for him,” Natsuya is suddenly deciding _again,_ and the waitress, after a speedy rundown of their orders, is off with a promise of their six pretty plastic platters within a reasonable amount of time and zero judgment.

Ikuya is shaken and shocked and _mortified._ He slumps like the coming cheap cup pudding into his own arms on the table and wishes he grabbed the menu from Natsuya when he had the chance, because notwithstanding everything and every place he’s been, his communication skills continue to be passable and they continue to give Natsuya the means to _do whatever the hell he wants,_ and Ikuya’s not as strong as Nao-senpai or as meek as Hiyori to try to put up with this.

Ikuya has half a mind to curse his fate of being the little brother of such an insane guy and deny he’s ever admired or pined for him, but the other half can’t even hold back a chuckle that’s more fond than it ought to be when their food eventually arrives and Natsuya has to exert ridiculous amounts of effort to carve his utensils into the crevices of the novelty plates while saying it’s worth it anyway, because he’s been all over the world and _god_ nothing beats not-Japanese Japanese food.

And Ikuya can’t even hold back a smile, when Natsuya shares his side of over-salted fries with him after raising half a mug of beer and sighing, “So fucking glad to be home!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Natsuya,” Nao calls, perennial parental concern in his voice as he taps his fingernail on the top of his can. He lowers his eyes at the latter who’s red and dazed and sighing exaggeratedly every time he swallows. “What is it?”

Nao already knows without asking, Natsuya’s sure; Nao’s always had a penchant for seeing through situations and shenanigans then making those involved admit to their faults, and Natsuya’s both proud and ashamed to admit that he’s never been an exception. Either way it’s easy for him to give and confess: “This…” He swings his can. “Tastes like fucking horse shit.”

Nao empathizes, own can only half-halfway empty, but decides Natsuya’s tone is too childish for his age and his size and his _profanity_ ; Nao also decides he should scold him for having the gall to complain about alcohol he bought an entire case of just because he felt like it and he happened to be at liberty to when he’s already _three cans into it._ “There’s an expression,” he starts airily instead, “‘Drinker’s regret.’ Maybe you’ve heard of it from the same people you learn your ‘life hacks’ from.”

“That’s about hangovers in the morning, the night is young! And I won’t regret it,” Natsuya corrects. When he goes on to defend having wrapped all the cans in soaked paper towels before sticking them in Nao’s freezer to cool them quickly when he got here because his American friends taught him so, the pout on his face starts to resemble Ikuya more than anything. But Ikuya and company are thankfully not as insane as Natsuya to be drinking high alcohol-content fruit-flavored beer on a Thursday night. _Natsuya_ just couldn’t wait: “Thought the compromise was worth trying, y’know?”

“Compromise?” Like that word exists in Natsuya’s vocabulary. He’s sitting on the floor in Nao’s apartment with a can of beer in his hand and his head thrown back on the edge of Nao’s mattress, obliviously unyielding to the fact that Nao has class first thing tomorrow morning. Nao sighs. “You say that like—”

“—Like,” Natsuya interrupts after a gulp. “I wasn’t about to make you mix cocktails in your kitchen or shit… Thought _hey,_ I like beer, you like fruity stuff, fruit-flavored beer was _supposed_ to be perfect,” he rambles, crushing the can in his hand after downing the last of it. Then he gets up. “Gonna get another. We’re gonna have a nice damn night talking over some drinks whether we like it or not.”

Nao raises an eyebrow, weighing between finally going through with scolding Natsuya and subsequently kicking him out for his ridiculousness, or being touched that Natsuya’s being considerate of him in his own weird way—not that Nao’s really surprised. Natsuya is Natsuya, after all. In fact, the fact makes it easy for him to give, too, so he lets Natsuya get himself a fresh can of beer and sit on his bed with him when he comes back. He tilts his head at him with a soft smile. “Then let’s talk. The drinks don’t matter as much, that you’re here is what’s important, right?” _Whether for now or for good._ “Let’s hear it. All sorts of things we didn’t get to tell each about over the phone or through text— Natsuya?”

Nao catches a deliberate effort not to keep eye contact on Natsuya’s part—no doubt reasons he has things he expressly chooses not to tell Nao about. Because Natsuya sheds his impulse control like a winter jacket when he hops on a plane for summer somewhere in the southern hemisphere, and because, well, pride. Half of his misadventures were downright stupid at best. “…You can go first.”

Quick to catch on, Nao levels him with one of his kind, _kind_ glares as he moves closer. “No, _you.”_

When Natsuya turns away and opens his fresh can of beer and drains it in one long, goosebumps-inducing go, Nao knows it’s because he’s stalling. He even tosses in an lemon-flavored chuckle, _winks,_ and throws the words back at Nao with a pathetic playfulness: “No, _you!”_

 _“Natsuya,”_ Nao warns, smile still in place. “I’m not playing. What did you do? Come on—” His smile falls instantly when he sees Natsuya blinking languidly, and when he reaches out to him he falls back into the sheets ungracefully, dizzy from drinking too much too fast. Nao frowns. “Are you _seriously_ falling asleep after three cans—wait, that was the fourth, wasn’t it—? And _in my bed?_ What about talking? What about _compromise,_ Natsuya—?”

 _“—Tomorrow,”_ Natsuya grumbles, dropping his empty can, and despite being annoyed that he has to clean his bedroom floor of crushed cans and damp paper towels, Nao’s just thankful that Natsuya’s one of those proverbial low-tol sleepy drunks. Once he’s out like a light, Nao can put his own half-drunk can of beer back in the fridge, haul Natsuya’s drunk ass over to the couch, and be relieved that he’s going to class tomorrow with neither hangover nor regret.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i give up this really is just a natsuya ficlet series now

“What _I_ recommend?” Hiyori asks, taken aback for a second before simpering to himself about his company’s indecisiveness. _They really are brothers._ Hiyori turns the menu over and points at a familiar item. “Ikuya’s favorite is the pistachio cream drink, but for Natsuya-kun…” He slides his finger upward. “This café’s homebrew is especially good.”

“Looks good,” Natsuya nods absentmindedly, “sounds good. I’ll get that.”

While Hiyori hums and calls a waitress over to relay their orders, Ikuya lets out a bored sigh beside him. “What’s the big idea, Aniki? Calling us up after class… You’re lucky we don't have training today—”

“I only asked to meet Hiyori,” Natsuya defends, “you didn’t have to come along if you didn't wanna.”

“Now, now,” Hiyori interrupts, hand on Ikuya’s shoulder. “Natsuya-kun said to show him to a nice café in Tokyo, plus it’s his treat.”

Natsuya rubs the back of his neck sheepishly at the obvious doubt Hiyori’s explanation puts on Ikuya’s face. “It’s true—ah, I mean. Truth is, I wanted to talk to Hiyori about something.”

Ikuya pauses for thought as Hiyori pulls back, then lets out another sigh. “If this is about me being a burden again or something—”

“—No, it’s not that!” Natsuya insists, raising his voice. Catching himself, he deflates, continuing quietly, “Well it _is,_ but… Even if I already apologized to Hiyori, I just feel like… there’s more I can do… to make it up to you two.”

“If it’s that, you don’t have to—”

“—Listen, I—” Natsuya stammers, uncharacteristic self-awareness and remorse in his tone and expression, “It was pretty selfish of me, and it strained your relationship with each other and— y’know...!”

_“…Natsuya-kun…”_ Unsure what to make of Natsuya’s sincerity nor what to say, Hiyori trails off. But Ikuya’s hand brushes against his and when he looks up at him, catches a reflection of himself in his eyes, Hiyori resolves to return Natsuya’s sentiment by some of his own honesty: “Ikuya and I are working it out, too… So you don’t have to worry.”

And Natsuya can tell, he always can, when someone speaks from their heart; just now he heard Hiyori’s loud and clear. So when he finally nods, it’s with reassurance and confidencee in him. In them. _Still,_ “Is there anything else? What about a cake slice, or some macarons—whatever you guys want, since we’re here anyway.”

Hiyori chuckles, light-hearted, “It’s fi—”

“—I know!” Natsuya blurts out, slamming his hands flat on the tabletop. “Ikuya’s baby pics," he offers with a smirk, “wanna see, Hiyori?”

“I said it’s already fine—” Hiyori starts, then he registers Natsuya’s words properly and cuts himself off with a sound that's a cross between an eager gasp and an _oof_ when Ikuya’s fist and protest hit him.

Ikuya turns away from Hiyori immediately, apologetic for hitting him without thinking, confused with why he’s suddenly become an object for negotiation, and embarrassed by the recollection of his derp childhood self— all at once. He clears his throat and huffs dismissively, “C-Clearly, Aniki’s just bluffing. We’d have to go all the way back to Iwatobi for photo albums and—”

“—I’m not bluffing!" Natsuya’s hands disappear into his bag on the seat beside him. “I have a couple in here,” he announces, bringing out and opening his well-worn wallet to reveal what looks like tickets from wherever the hell he was last shoved into the different pockets meant for his cards.

“A-Aniki...” Ikuya stutters, staring, startled, “You can’t be serious…”

“Gimme a sec.” Natsuya struggles to fit his thumb and index into one of the slots to pull out an expired railway pass from Who Knows Where with a stack of other yellowed papers under it. After finagling for a few more moments, it comes free and slides onto the tabletop with old receipts and folded photographs.

Natsuya sorts through them, unfolding and slipping them aside one at a time: there’s a photo of middle-school Natsuya with a few medals, a couple of him with his swimming clubs, one of just Nao, and—and the rest, Ikuya snatches. “Why do you even have pictures with you…?!”

“It was Mom’s idea for if I got homesick, you weren’t originally supposed to follow me to America, remember? Never bothered to take ‘em out’s all—”

“—And of course you just happen to still be using the same crusty wallet since middle school…”

Natsuya gives at the snide in Ikuya’s remark, crumpling up the tickets and receipts to stash away in his pocket then retrieving the other photos to put back in one of the designated slots. He cocks his chin at those in Ikuya’s hands. “Hurry and show Hiyori then give 'em back to me.”

“You _still_ want them back?” Ikuya visibly cringes. “Cut it out, Aniki… Besides, showing Hiyori something like this…”

“C’mon, you owe it to him,” Natsuya bargains, “’m sure you gave him some grief too.”

Hiyori, who’s been otherwise content just watching the brothers bicker, speaks up, out of some protective habit for a tense, cornered Ikuya: “Of course, it’s up to Ikuya, but if he lets me see I’d be very happy. I’ll call me and Natsuya-kun even after this, too.”

At that, Ikuya’s resistance falls eventually, and he begrudgingly passes the pictures to Hiyori, who doesn’t try to hide that he’s absolutely _delighted_ to see that they’re two photos from separate occasions of a silly-looking baby Ikuya crying in an equally silly-looking toddler Natsuya’s arms.

Natsuya and Ikuya’s combined apology gift is just like them, Hiyori muses, unprecedented but undeniably good, and he joyfully basks in the warmth and intimacy of it all. Though when their orders arrive, Hiyori has to stop Ikuya from wasting his pistachio cream drink and dunking it all on Natsuya’s head after he hands the photos back to him with thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

`been thinking about something`

A chance glance at his phone brings the preview of a new instant message from Rin to Haru’s attention. He doesn’t have to calculate the time difference or check the weather across the hemisphere to conclude that he must be out on break or that it’s raining, and neither poolside lunch nor training in the rain is an option. Otherwise, Rin wouldn’t be thinking about anything aside from _swimming._

_God_ Haru wishes that were him. Instead he’s stuck in this stifling library and even worse, in his stifling clothes. But he reminds himself that being a part of Hidaka’s swim team means doing well in Hidaka to begin with, so though thoroughly hassled it’s not begrudgingly that Haru works on his English lecture reports. Still, his screen is lighting up with messages from Rin, and Makoto and Asahi are too focused on their own homework to notice him bringing his smartphone closer to him, unlocking it with a flick of his finger.

`it’s funny because when we talk about all this global stage thing it feels like the world is some huge scary place  
` `and it is, it really is  
` `but i feel like most times it`’`s not that bad.  
` `in fact`

Haru raises an eyebrow at the spam followed by three dots dancing next to Rin’s icon to signify that he’s still typing, and he imagines the look on his face— red eyes sparkling and lips quivering in something utterly _lovesick._ It’s always like that with Rin, pouring his heart out if he isn’t wearing it on his sleeve. Making romantic declarations out of the blue.

When the dots disappear without being replaced with a new message, Haru simply sits by; Rin’s probably just belatedly stopping to think now that the app’s told him that Haru’s read his messages. Haru instead finishes the English sentence he was in the middle of writing, certain he’ll come back to more from Rin in a second. And he does.

`it’s a small world.  
` `ever since i decided that this is my own dream i’m chasing i haven’t been as fixated on my dad as i used to be  
` `he’s still my no.1 of course but i’ve been doing things for my own sake too y’know?  
` `some while ago here i met someone who kinda reminded me of him. guy’s next to nothing like my dad but he just had this vibe to him  
the way he talked about what he swims for.  
it was nice. like my dad’s watching over me and my new dream closer than i think  
it’s hard to explain`

The dots disappear again, and Haru waits till Makoto and Asahi get up to search for useful books from somewhere before he takes his phone in his hands and types back, because even if he and Rin are both patient enough to wait till the next time they see each other to have a proper chat, Haru isn’t not gonna say anything to acknowledge his feelings.

 _` im happy for you  
`_ _` rin` _

`come to think of it ``he reminded me a bit of you too  
` `guy swims when he likes where he likes. `

_` i don’t get to swim when i like where i like these days` _

`jealous?  
` `sousuke’d be jealous too if he heard i made a bet with him  
` `guy couldn’t decide what he wanted so he kept thinking up random shit to wager  
``strangely enough he doesn’t remind me of his brother  
` `he told me about his brother while he was here. met him while i was there.  
new rival, ``kirishima ikuya. `

_`huh?  
you’ve been talking about natsuya-senpai all this time? ` _

`yeah. glad i met natsuya-san when i did, felt like i needed it. he’s like an all-in-one for things i swim for or something...  
` `stupid, right?  
` `anyway truth is rain’s coming down hard right now and i can’t swim in my favorite pool. maybe it’s making me a little sentimental?  
` `‘cause when natsuya-san was here we tried to race but it rained before we saw who won, so i ended up thinking about him.  
well if you see him tell him i said hi!  
` `i’ll quit bothering you now  
` `later, haru`

The last few messages popped up one after the other as if Rin was scrambling to push his earlier texts up because he realized how cheesy most of it sounded. Haru was tempted to interrupt more to say he _had_ supposed it was raining, or to argue that Rin’s sentimental _regardless_ of the weather, but the dots disappear for good this time and there’s no point to the hypothetical banter.

Haru locks his phone, puts it down, and tries get back to work. _Tries;_ the almost one-sided conversation is stuck in his head and it’s taking him more mental energy to process everything Rin’s said than to conceptualize for his English essay.

Never mind that Rin really just somehow compared Haru and Sousuke and Ikuya _through_ Natsuya in one long virtual breath— did he really just say Natsuya of all people reminded him of his _dad?_

Haru finds it odd at best. Despite his being their upperclassman Natsuya had never come off as fatherly, and if anyone asked Ikuya he’d without hesitation deny even his claims to brotherly responsibility. Haru always thought that Natsuya’s a weird, wild warmth that’s only especially specifically _Natsuya,_ and Haru since meeting him and racing him has never bothered to put how he felt about such weird, wild warmth into words.

Unlike Rin. But if one wanted reliable opinion on Natsuya, their best bet was surely Nao— except then the thought devolves from odd to downright absurd to Haru, because if Natsuya-senpai’s Rin’s dad, then that would make Nao-senpai his mom or his other dad, and what’s that gonna make the rest of them in the same batch as Rin—?

“—Earth to Haru-chan—!” Makoto chimes in, waving a hand in front of Haru’s face.

There’s a weight on his shoulder, too, Asahi’s free hand. He’s setting their new books down with the other, peering curiously at his face. “What’s up, Haru? Scary look you got there.”

Haru lightly touches his hands to Makoto’s and Asahi’s to put them at ease. “Nothing. Rin just sent me some stupid texts.”

Makoto takes Haru’s expression in for one definite moment before shrugging with a chuckle and giving Asahi something, anything to work with. Rin’s heart is hard to explain, Makoto silently agrees with Haru, so he instead babbles on about how since Rin’s fluent, they’re all bound to get teased by him about their English homework at some point. 

Meanwhile, with an uneasy glare at his phone, Haru wonders whether or not he should pass Rin’s greeting to Natsuya-senpai the next time they meet.


	5. Chapter 5

_“Haruka!”_

It’s through the loud sloshing of water as it gave way to each movement of his strokes that Haru hears someone yell his given name, and though he tries to ignore it his body doesn’t; distracted, he loses speed on his way back to the starting block.

In the heat of a race and teammates cheering for him or calling him home, he might have reacted differently, adrenaline and all, and Haru _does_ have memories of those he treasures. But at the moment during afternoon training in the university pool after a long day of boring lectures, the sentiment is all sorts of misplaced. With his feet flat to the floor, hands touching the wall before they slip his cap and goggles off in one fluid motion, he shakes his head and hair once, not exactly sure what he’s expecting when he looks up.

He sure as hell isn’t expecting _Kirishima Natsuya_ standing there, hand outstretched toward him. Urged by surprise and routine with Makoto, Haru’s inclined to raise his hand out of the water and let Natsuya take it, but already he’s complaining in his head about the excessive strength with which he’s helped— _hauled_ , more like it—out of the pool.

Haru belatedly realizes that there’s a stopwatch in Natsuya’s other hand when he clicks it as the person in the lane adjacent to his finishes his lap. Natsuya glances down at the recorded time and withdraws from Haru to address the other: “Going all out like this on a warm-up lap? _The heck,_ Ikuya!”

Ikuya’s emerged from the water gasping, eyes registering Hiyori’s absence ahead of him faster than his ears register Natsuya’s comment. When he takes his cap and goggles off, he all but recoils. _“Aniki?_ What are you doing here?”

“Someone texted me that your guys’s universities are practicing together today so I thought I’d drop by—”

 _“—Who let you in,”_ Ikuya deadpans, spotting Hiyori beside his older brother now and shooting him an accusing look. Hiyori’s hands may be empty of the stopwatch he was supposed to be holding, but when they come up after pulling Ikuya out of the water they work to claim his innocence.

It also helps that Asahi is cheerfully, _skillfully_ maneuvering the wet poolside to sidle up to the lot of them. “Glad you could make it, Natsuya-senpai!”

“Yeah!” Natsuya returns, crossing forearms with Asahi in greeting. “Great thing you got going on here.”

Asahi scratches the back of his head sheepishly with a chuckle. “Actually me and Toono coordinated to get our universities to have joint training so…”

Haru turns away from them and paces back to the starting block, rewearing his goggles and cap without saying anything except a quiet “going for another lap,” so he doesn’t have to participate in or interrupt the chat, but Natsuya eagerly follows him instead:

“Lemme time you, Haruka!”

Haru stops, almost loses his balance on the platform. He pretends it’s because he needs to adjust his goggles again, pretends it’s because he’s annoyed that Toono let Natsuya-senpai borrow his stopwatch to begin with.

But the truth is, against his will and _principle_ Haru’s learned how to feel for gazes on him, and aside from the few wayward gazes he’s learned to live with because his form is just that, and he quotes everyone he’s had the (dis)pleasure of swimming with, _beautiful,_ the weight of being watched doubles almost after Natsuya called his name.

He’s learned to live with that, too. Similar to a bunch of bothersome things entailed by his decision and dream to be recognized, like his current inability to excuse that he doesn’t care about times for one, people using his whole name’s become entirely unavoidable. But even then, Haru reasons, he’d sooner be referred to as _Nanase,_ by announcers and commentators and coaches and teammates, and those close enough to him just call him plain ol’ _Haru._ And though he should have outgrown getting bothered by his full given name, out loud in front of everyone by his middle school senpai is just a little…

Haru wills himself to ignore it properly, at least this time. The water is right in front of him, waiting. _Unmocking._ He just needs to dive—

“—Take your marks,” comes Natsuya’s unwanted, unwarranted prompt, and Haru almost loses balance again when he goes on: “Wait for the whistle! Ain’t Nao or nothing but I can still scold you for jumping the gun, Haruka—”

 _“—Ugh.”_ Haru swiftly steps off the starting block and spins. The confused quirk of Natsuya’s eyebrow that greets him fills him with an irritation he hasn’t felt since first year middle school, but he’s older now, much wiser, and he tells himself he’s outgrown both the discomfort of being addressed by his given name and the urge to address his senpais disrespectfully. So instead of impolitely telling Natsuya off, he takes a deep breath to push his goggles up and levels him with a challenging glare instead: “Race me, Natsuya-senpai.”

This elicits a chorus of shocked responses from those around them, but Natsuya’s mostly unfazed.

“If I win,” Haru starts firmly, once he’s certain he has Natsuya’s attention, “you stop calling me Haruka—”

“—Declined.”

“Eh?” Haru slumps, tension falling instantaneously with him. “You didn’t even think about it…”

Natsuya simply shrugs, and he says the next thing he does like it’s some universal truth: “The familiarity’s a way of deepening our bond, y’see—”

“You’re still saying that kind of thing?” Haru mutters incredulously, frown setting deeper by the second. “Even _I’ve_ grown a little…”

Natsuya just laughs at that, warm and hearty and silly. He drapes an arm over a disoriented Ikuya and drops his smile, making a straight face. “Anyway, I can’t believe you’d challenge me when even my baby brother Ikuya’s already kicked my ass and surpassed me. When did you get so cruel, _Haruka!”_

Haru feels it again, that irritation, along with more eyes on them because of Natsuya’s exclamation. He should try to defend himself against the false implications and the idea that anyone is ever allowed to casually call him by his given name, but Ikuya’s already shaking his head and dragging Natsuya for _all_ their sakes: “Aniki, stop being a bother… And don’t make a scene, you don’t even _go here…”_

Hiyori and Asahi have withdrawn into the background awkwardly, wordlessly, and Haru settles back at the starting block for good. In the back of his mind he wonders if Ikuya will feel betrayed that they abandoned him to suffer with Natsuya now—they all know how that’s gonna end.

But more deliberately, Haru wonders, if everyone Natsuya-senpai troubles and drags into his shenanigans, everyone who makes the mistake of going along with his whims, everyone else whose full given names Natsuya-senpai’s happy to have on his lips along with mirth and fondness and familiarity, all regard him the same way: _can’t live with him, can’t live without him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay im done thanks to the five people who read this woohoo! im never writing fir free! again


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh!” Kisumi cheerfully waves at Marron's newest guest: “Over here!”

The soft and sweet of Kisumi’s voice is, unsurprisingly, enough to draw Natsuya’s attention away from Asahi who’s struggling with baby Tsukushi’s foot in his face behind the counter, to what he’s learning is the lot’s regular table at this café when meeting up. That he doesn’t make fun of Asahi’s comical incompetence he owes less to any self-awareness that tells him he couldn’t do any better himself, and more to Kisumi’s smile.

 _Widen your world and make more friends,_ Natsuya always used to say. Though he’d lived by those words so faithfully he shared them with his little brother as advice, he ponders it as he walks on over, because such advice has earned Ikuya a friend like… this guy. This guy, who despite never being a member of the swimming club is willingly, happily, respectfully calling him “Natsuya- _senpai~!”_

Nao once told him, kind-eyed and brutally honest as ever, that he’s awkward in that he’s a good big brother to everyone except his own little brother. Natsuya didn’t try to argue; his relationship with Ikuya was its own matter, something he went at at his own pace, and Natsuya thoroughly enjoyed having underclassmen to look after for the meantime. Japan is a small place, and when he runs into old teammates like he’s sure he’s bound to, he’s glad to hear the honorific still tacked to the end of his given name, like a show of bonds lasting well past graduations.

“Y’know, Natsuya- _senpai…”_ At the prompt, Natsuya finds that he doesn’t exactly mind, but in the end hearing it from someone he never _bonded_ with in the pool makes him feel just that little bit on-edge. Said someone is leaning across the table towards him as he takes a seat, chin resting on laced fingers, eyes narrowing. Smile simmering down into a smirk. “I never did forgive you for stealing my dream team back in middle school.”

Natsuya resists the urge to pull back; the proximity makes it hard to examine him but then again Natsuya doesn’t really have to. He can play stupid but for some reason the memory of it _is_ vivid, the way he’d pursed his lips and turned down even a flyer for the swimming club. Natsuya nods in mild disappointment and understanding nonetheless, just like he did back then, but raises his eyebrows at him anyway. “From the basketball club, right…?”

“Kisumi,” he supplies.

 _Right,_ Natsuya remembers the name, too. Remembers Asahi announcing everyone except their pink-haired classmate was ready for recruitment, remembers how their company got jumped by him after training yet his apologies sounded insincere and sugar-coated at best when they groaned to tell him they’re too tired from club for his antics.

Kisumi never did stop joking about being left out, either.

So Natsuya leans in, intent to meet him in the middle. “Will you forgive me then? If I _kiss you.”_

“Ah~” Kisumi’s expression breaks into a grin, amused, but not because Natsuya’s traveled literally all over the world only to end up hardly using his acquired English skills on a pun that’s been made one too many times. He lets his gaze stray in Asahi’s direction— he’s finally successfully bottle-feeding Tsukushi— before settling on Natsuya again. “Like kouhai like senpai, huh?”

Natsuya’s amused too, guessing from being around an easily-flustered middle-school Asahi what Kisumi meant. Still, he lowers his eyes, lowers his voice for the hell of it, “Heh, Asahi’s made this move on you, too?”

Then, Kisumi _giggles._ “Our Asahi? No way he would!”

“Didn’t think so!” Natsuya adds, and when they break apart the shared fit of laughter that follows is loud and full, and enough to make Asahi glare at them because now he’s trying to rock Tsukushi to sleep.

It cools Natsuya down enough while Kisumi’s still busy wiping tears from the corner of his eyes, so he starts, “In all seriousness though. If I didn’t steal your dream team, they wouldn’t have found theirs.” There’s both fondness and confidence in his tone when he continues, “Looking at Haruka and the rest, it’s easy to tell it took a lot to get to this point… But I mean, you’re all here! All worked out in the end, yeah?”

What a simple-minded thing to say, Kisumi thinks, _really_ like kouhai like senpai. But the same way Kisumi can’t deny Asahi’s earnestness he can’t say anything to the truth in what Natsuya just said— though he never did get his dream team, they are all here, and they’re all here _together,_ Iwatobi team dreaming and looking to the future and traversing Tokyo.

Kisumi looks satisfied, eyes wide and sparkling in realization and agreement, but Natsuya raises an offer regardless: “Since I’m sticking around here, if you want, Kisumi, _I’ll_ take you up on some streetball at least—”

“Oi, Kisumi!!” Natsuya’s interrupted by Asahi stomping over as soon as he handed back Tsukushi to his sister after she’s returned from her supply run. Asahi slings an arm over the back of Kisumi’s neck and drags him in a playful headlock. “Don’t even _think_ about seducing Natsuya-senpai for any of your circles!!”

“Huh?! I wasn’t!” Kisumi insists, giggling again, tapping Asahi’s arms in surrender, “Honest! And if anything _Natsuya-senpai_ was the one seducing me!”

“That’s even harder to believe!” Asahi hollers, shaking him up.

Asahi keeps yelling at Kisumi not to dare try to steal Natsuya-senpai away from them, but because Akane is scolding them for causing a ruckus, Kisumi doesn’t bother reminding him that it’s _Natsuya-senpai_ who stole them away from him to begin with. Instead, he just shares a look with Natsuya who’s chuckling heartily at the misplaced possessiveness, and realizes that maybe, just maybe, taken as all his friends are with Natsuya, he’d let Natsuya take him with them, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said im done but i wanted to add this. also changed the summary because why not. that's it for now promise

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i caught up with free! recently. fell in love with natsuya. the works. best mistake of my life. needed to get some fic ideas out of my system so it's ficlets time
> 
> title from yell for the future natsunao duet because i can hehe. thanks for reading!


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